


A Web of Wings

by Redisaid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, come on down i bet yours is probably going to show up here at some point, mercymaker, too many kinks to tag even
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-09 03:33:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10402905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redisaid/pseuds/Redisaid
Summary: A collection of Mercymaker drabbles and tumblr prompts of the spicy variety.





	1. Featherlight

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Wingkink/Cybernetic wing Mercy

The first time she she saw Angela in her full kit, she was suddenly aware of what had been missing from her life until that moment. 

If Amelie were a religious woman, she might also say her prayers were answered. She’d actually still say that–because fuck it–that was funny.

Then came the dilemma. How the hell was she supposed to tell her girlfriend that her Valkyrie suit was…incredibly hot? This sophisticated piece of technology, this life-saving device that Angela had specifically designed to provide hope to the hopeless. She could just tell her. Yeah, that’d go over well. There was certainly no way Angela would give her a disgusted look and tell her to pack her things and be out of their flat by morning.

Ah well. Another one to keep to herself. 

Or not.

It was hard not to stare. Even after a long and exhausting mission, her eyes were still on Angela as they strode into the locker room together. She couldn’t help herself. 

Amelie tried to go about her business. She really did. She carefully set aside her rifle and unloaded it. She cleaned it and put it back in the weapons locker. 

She definitely didn’t watch Angela out of the corner of her eye. She definitely didn’t admire the grace that the normally clumsy doctor had when moving about in her suit. She most definitely didn’t trace the graceful hardlight feathers of her wings with her gaze.  
“You know you’re terribly obvious, right?” Angela asked, shaking her out of her daze.

Only then did Amelie look down at herself. She’d been sitting on a bench and taking off the same boot for a good five minutes. “I wasn’t–”

“Oh please,” Angela scolded her. “For someone who’s normally very forward, you are being weirdly shy about it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Amelie replied as firmly as she could.

“Really?” Angela challenged. 

Then she activated the jets on her wings, causing them to flare brilliantly and propel her toward Amelie. She landed delicately just in front of her. First on one foot, then the other. Angela smirked audibly as Amelie’s jaw dropped. Only then did she place a chaste kiss on her girlfriend’s forehead. 

“Someone is into my suit,” Angela noted.

“Is that such a terrible thing?” Amelie asked, mostly to gauge if Angela really though it was. 

Angela’s grin immediately told her it was not. “No,” she said.

Good. Well. Okay then. The floodgates opened. “It’s just…I know how it works. You’ve told me. The wings and everything. Your spine.”

Angela leaned in. “But?”

“You feel them, then?” Amelie asked.

Angela laughed dryly. Instead of offering an explanation, she turned and offered her shoulder to Amelie. 

It was like something holy. Amelie stared at the feather of golden light, afraid to touch it for fear of being smote by some unknown deity. But fuck that. You only live once. Well, twice, in her case. She reached out and gently felt along the edge of one feather with two fingers.

The hardlight was warm beneath her finger tips. Like a real feather, it was soft only because of its lack of substance. There was barely anything to it. 

But Angela shivered all the same.

“Sensitive,” Amelie noted, her breath catching in her throat. That didn’t stop her from continuing to gently explore the feather.

“It allows me to get a better feel for the air pressure and glide farther,” Angela told her. A flush was creeping out onto her cheeks from the black under armor that covered her neck.

Amelie leaned forward on the bench. “I notice you’re not telling me to stop,” she commented as she moved on to another feather with the same light touch.

“No, I’m not. Perhaps you might consider voicing your desires next time, instead of staring me down from across the room. You might get better results that way,” Angela told her. She shivered again.

Amelie was already intent on exploring this fantasy she’d been holding back. “Noted,” she said simply.

Amelie was more artist than scientist, but she made her inventory of the wing system in a very careful and methodical way. Gentle touches were well received. Harsher ones not so much. The tips of the feathers were the most sensitive. The suit could come off without removing the wings. Convenient. There was a massage table in the locker room. Also convenient. All of the other agents from their mission had already left the locker rooms before this even started. Very convenient.

Soon enough, she was straddling Angela on said massage table. Her hands were roaming Angela’s bare back, darting up to the golden feathers infrequently, teasing.

“This isn’t fair,” Angela eventually whined as she propped herself onto her elbows. “I can’t do this back to you.”

“Oh I can think of plenty of things for you to do instead,” Amelie purred. “Or I suppose I could just make it even.”

“Even?” Angela asked.

“Even enough,” Amelie answered. 

Her left hand slid gently up the base of the left wing. Her right hand slid down Angela’s back. Down past where her cybernetic spine retreated into her lower back. Down further until they found a place that made Angela’s elbows give out.


	2. Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Strapons + Angela is too busy working and needs a sexy distraction + Amelie can't wait and decides to take care of herself
> 
> Mercy tops. Fight me.

Their bed was a picture of comfort. Crisp white sheets. A clean duvet patterned with what else but the fleur de lise. Too many pillows. A plush blanket was still folded across the bottom of the mattress. A cat watching them from the far corner of said blanket with sleepy eyes.

And Angela in the middle of it, typing on her damn holopad still. And clothes. Too many clothes, but too few to not provide a distraction. Just a white Overwatch tank top and some black shorts. Amelie was pretty certain that there was no bra underneath said tank top, but proving that would require further study. 

Study that she was being prevented from conducting.

“I just need to finish this, then I’m all yours,” Angela protested as Amelie kissed her way up her neck.

Amelie nipped at her jawline in annoyance and let out a brief growl against it. “You’ve been at it for an hour now and you were in the lab all day. How much more can there be to do?” she rumbled into Angela’s ear.

Angela smiled and poked at her girlfriend’s cheek. “There’s always more. It’s just a question of what needs to be done today.”

Amelie sighed and flopped back on to her side the bed with a little bit more drama than was necessary. She was not used to being made to wait.

Plus that smug little smile of Angela’s was taunting her in a way that she didn’t know it could. She was warm and squirming already. Well, as warm as she could get. It certainly felt like she was burning up, but to anyone else, she’d be just about room temperature. A flush was dripping from her cheeks into her neck, staining them a shade of purple that was getting closer to pink.

But there was Angela, still smirking and typing away and not even appreciating how much Amelie wanted her right then.

Angela was so frustrating when she was like this, but still incredibly beautiful. Even with the constant bags under her eyes and her hair a disheveled mess from a day spent too involved in her work to care, she was gorgeous. Amelie had tried to tell her so thirty minutes before, hoping that lavishing compliments on the doctor would make her put the damn holo down. No such luck. Oh well. She could keep her admiration to herself.

And then a thought occurred to her. A very simple and profound thought. If Angela wouldn’t help her, she could always help herself…

…Not to mention that that would definitely get Angela’s attention.

So Amelie was now the one smirking. She ran a lithe set of fingers over her too-warm skin, tracing along her ribs and down to her hip bone. Circling there for a moment, then dipping past the waistband of her own shorts, circling there again and finding herself even hotter for it.

Though it wasn’t what she wanted, Amelie found this moment of relief to be surprisingly enjoyable. The thrill of doing this next to Angela, waiting for her to react to it–well, let’s just say it was an unexpected turn on.  
Her mistake was in the low moan she let escape from her lips.

Angela’s eyes shot over to her at unprecedented speed. Icy blue stared at her for a moment, taking her in. Then, calmly, Angela said, “That’s not allowed.”

Oh.

Angela took her time. She saved her work and closed it. She switched off her holopad and rolled over to put it back in her work bag. She shooed the cat off the bed. She stood and went to the light switch.  
Amelie remained frozen on the bed, not sure what way this offense would take her, but certain that she had Angela’s attention now, for better or for worse.

Angela turned off the lights. “You need to learn some patience.”

“Is that so?” Amelie found herself challenging. 

Angela was moving again. Her bare feet made little sound on the wood floors, but Amelie could see just the hint of a shadow moving across the room in the dark. 

“Yes,” Angela said, her voice still a pool of eerie calm. “Luckily for you, this is a dire problem and must be dealt with immediately.”

A drawer slid open. Metal clinked against metal. Just once. Amelie could feel Angela’s weight sink onto the other end of the bed. She was still moving, shaking the mattress with her.

“Immediately, huh?”

“Remember that this is a lesson in patience, liebling,” Angela noted as she continued to shift in the dark. “All good things come to those who wait.”

Amelie dared to roll onto her side and ask, “And if I cannot wait?”

“You will wait,” Angela commanded.

And she did. Oh she did. It was only for a minute or two, but Amelie felt like years had passed. She was still so warm. Her skin felt like it was on fire. Perhaps she was almost approaching a normal human body temperature. Who knows?  
Angela’s weight sank the mattress closer to her, then just between her legs. 

“First lesson,” Angela instructed, “is that you should use your time wisely. You’re still in your clothes. Take them off.”

Amelie had never taken off a pair of shorts and a camisole so fast in her life. She probably never would again.

“Good. Second lesson is that you need to apologize for making me interrupt my work,” Angela went on, still a shadow that was just out of her reach.

“I’m sorry,” Amelie blurted out.

“Good,” Angela said. One warm hand finally made it’s way up Amelie’s leg. “Now, third and final lesson. If you can’t wait, just tell me. Chances are I can make time for you. Only for you, though.”

That hand moved up and up, dangerously up. It flirted with giving Amelie what she wanted before coming to rest gently on her hip. Angela drew herself closer, but still just out of reach. She was clearly waiting for a response.

“I need you now,” Amelie told her honestly. “Please. Just fuck me.”

“Well then,” Angela purred. 

She was a sudden warmth. A shower of kisses. A flurry of soft, but sure hands. Angela washed over Amelie like a wave from a sea of want. 

Amelie groaned, taking in the glut of touch. She was expecting soft lips and soft hands. What she was not expecting was something hard rubbing against her. She distanced herself from her pleasure just enough to reach down and find out what it was. Oh. Oh.

“You said fuck me,” Angela noted above her. “So I plan to.”

A strap-on. Wow. Amelie didn’t even know that Angela owned one. Of course. Of course she would. 

“If that’s all right,” Angela said as she positioned herself to make full use of it.

Amelie groaned out her response into Angela’s shoulder. “It’s so all right. I can’t even tell you how all right it is. God. Please. Please just fuck me.”

“Gladly.”

Angela was too good at this. She was so good. She knew her way around a plastic dick more than any man Amelie had ever been with knew his way around his own permanently attached member. She had Amelie seeing stars after only a few minutes. She was every bit as gentle as she usually was, but didn’t shy away from fucking her as hard as she needed. 

So when Angela added a hand into the mix, it didn’t take long for Amelie to unravel beneath her. 

Amelie was pretty sure her muscles has dissolved into some form of jello. Maybe cherry-flavored jello? She couldn’t be sure. She didn’t want to be. She didn’t want to do anything but lie there and listen to Angela’s breathing slow above her.

“Lesson four,” Angela breathed into Amelie’s inky black hair. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“That has nothing to do with patience,” Amelie protested, feeling a little bit of life come back into her wobbly frame as she did.

“It has everything to do with my patience,” Angela replied.

Amelie was hardly dense. She could take a hint when she heard one. She pulled Angela up onto her so that she was straddling her waist. Amelie shook her head and kept pulling, “Further up.”

Now it was her turn to smirk while Angela hesitated and flushed. Amelie could see the domineering nature she’d been wearing literally melt off her then, even in the pitch dark of their room. 

Angela eventually obliged and sat on Amelie’s face. 

Amelie’s muscles were still semi-liquid, but her tongue was not. She knew this was one of Angela’s favorite ways to get off. She also knew that she was lazy and tired and had to work around the strap-on that was threatening to get in the way, but she could make it work. Angela deserved as much.

And from as wet as she was, it was obvious that she wanted as much. 

So, it wasn’t surprising at all when Angela cried out her release only a few minutes later. Her arms were shaking, straining against the headboard. Amelie looked up and found a brief glint of ice blue eyes staring back at her before they squeezed shut with an aftershock. 

Angela crawled down her body, finding her way into a perfect hollow next to it. Hips to hips. Shoulders to shoulders. Arms around waist. Head on neck. Strap-on poking annoyingly into her thigh. Oh well. Not everything could be perfect.  
“Class dismissed,” Angela muttered just before she began to snore.


	3. Try You On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mom jeans + exhibitionism + bickering + dressing room sex

“I take you to the best boutiques in Paris and this is what you want to buy?”

Amelie could not be more disgusted than she was right now. It seeped out of her voice, heavy with rage and confusion. 

Angela stood before her, equally confused, but her face was soft. “What? I thought a high waist was in fashion these days.”

“Not like that,” Amelie spat. “Those are–Angela. Come on. You know better than this.”

“They’re what?” Angela dared.

“Mom jeans,” Amelie sighed.

Angela pouted. For a moment, Amelie thought she would resort to the pathetic angle. It was rare, but Angela was quite an expert at guilting her into giving up on their playful little fights. Those perfectly blue eyes could look so sad sometimes, even if she knew her girlfriend was faking. Amelie could be cruel, sure, but she always knew when the pout came out, it was time to stop.

But Angela’s expression changed quickly. The pout became a haughty smirk. “You wouldn’t know fashion if you saw it.”

Oh. Oh. That’s how it was.

Angela twirled to emphasize her superiority. To her credit, at least the outfit matched. The odd, high-waisted navy blue jeans took front and center in the ensemble, stealing attention away from a cute patterned tank that lay under a crisp white button-down and a yellow scarf. Actually, if it weren’t for the awful jeans, the outfit would have actually been quite cute. 

But the jeans–they were unforgivable. “I would say that I taught you everything you know, but then I would admit to being responsible for this,” Amelie told her.

Angela feigned shock, but went back to smirking. “And what would you say if I told you I got the idea for this outfit from you? You wore a very similar pair of jeans just last week–”

Amelie’s finger shot in front of her face to interrupt her. “Don’t compare that monstrosity of a garment on your legs to anything I own!” 

“Or else?” Angela challenged. Her lips moved against Amelie’s finger, soft but reckless. 

Amelie was getting ideas. Ideas about things she knew those lips could do. Ideas that had no place in a tiny dressing room at the back of a nearly abandoned boutique. Or did they? The mirrors. The old, dark wood of the bench and chairs with their soft brocade cushions. The discarded clothes. It had a certain romantic look to it, that is, if one enjoyed hooking up in dressing rooms.

Amelie was beginning to think she might. “Or else I’ll show you just how much you have to learn,” she purred. She let her finger trail down from those soft lips, down Angela’s neck and then weave its way through the buttons of her shirt, slowly.  
A well-earned blush followed it. “Here?” Angela asked. 

Amelie continued to trace the stitches of the button-down, following them to the hem of the accursed jeans before hooking into it and threatening to pull them off. “The shopkeeper is busy arguing with that woman who’s insisting on returning that blouse with the wine stain on it. I doubt they’ll be finished any time soon.”

“Someone’s eager,” Angela noted, trying to pretend her hips weren’t rolling into the touch.

“I’ve been watching you change all day, how could I not be?” Amelie told her as she found the button holding the jeans on and added her thumb into the mix to help undo it.

“So you do admit that my fashion sense is good enough to turn you on?” Angela asked as she snatched the offending hand away from her waist and forced Amelie to look back up at her.

Amelie cracked a grin. “Oh no. It’s what’s underneath your hideous taste in clothes that I prefer.”

She was hoping that would make Angela drop her hand, or at least react in some way. But she did not. 

Angela kept her iron grip and looked up at Amelie with fire in her eyes. “I am thoroughly offended. You won’t be getting into these mom jeans until you apologize,” she said.

“Or else?” Amelie asked.

“I just told you the else!” Angela cried. “You get none of this.”

Amelie wasn’t going to let her win that easily. No. Not when she was like this. She was amazing when she was like this. Amelie expertly flicked her wrist and freed herself of Angela’s grip. 

She was rewarded with a soft gasp as one hands deftly rid Angela of the jeans that were never to be spoke of again. The other took up a firm grip on that yellow scarf. Her fingers twisted easily into the silky material and let her crash her lips into Angela’s so she could whisper against them. “I win.”

And she did win, because Angela clearly couldn’t come up with anything better than a moan to protest her. Angela, in fact, did not seem to care about the argument any longer. She only cared about kicking her way out of the jeans that were pooled around her feet. And quickly.

To be fair, Angela’s choice of underwear for the day had been deliberate, as in deliberately targeting her girlfriend. Normally, she wore comfortable cotton panties and sensible nude bras. Incredibly boring, not to mention unfashionable. But that day, the day she and Amelie had set aside for shopping on their trip, she had somehow pulled out a matching set made of black lace. Unfair. Completely unfair.

Amelie reminded herself of this as she got rid of the button down and snaked her hand up the tank. Her fingers collided with the rough texture of the lace. 

How had Angela not seen this coming? You can’t just parade around in black lace in front of your girlfriend and not expect her to want to do something about it.

Amelie let go of the scarf and instead reluctantly set her other hand on Angela’s breastbone and pushed her against one of the floor to ceiling mirrors lining the small room. She pushed a knee between Angela’s now thankfully bare thighs, a knee clad in always fashionable tight black skinny jeans. Jeans with a normal waist, mind you.

But Angela didn’t moan or gasp or blush even more. No. She laughed. She laughed. “Oh no. I think I win,” she breathed as Amelie began peppering her bare shoulders with kisses.

Amelie could see her own expression harden in the mirror, but kept her mouth on Angela’s pale skin. She sucked a mark into it before asking, “Oh? How so?”

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist until we got back to the hotel,” Angela told her. It came out as a hot breath against the crown of Amelie’s head, brushing its way past her silky black hair and into her scalp.

She had, in fact, lost. The shopping with Angela constantly insisting on trying on clothes in front of her. The lingerie. The lunch full of aphrodisiacs at the restaurant Angela picked. Oysters for the appetizer. Red wine with salmon for the main course. Chocolate for dessert. 

Amelie should have seen it coming. But she didn’t. She was woefully unprepared to be the one who was manipulated. Usually, it was the other way around. Angela fell so easily into her web. It was hard not to.

There was only one thing to do in this situation. Only one thing she could do, really. She could pretend she didn’t care. Because she did. She so did. Angela was going to get it next time, but for now, Amelie would just have to setting on giving it. 

She dropped to her knees, not acknowledging Angela’s statement. She raked her nails down Angela’s thighs as she went, then back up. She knew Angela was weak to this and it would shut her up. Even better, when she went to rake them back down again, she brought those completely unfair black lace panties down with her nails and added them to the floor full of discarded clothes. Amelie allowed herself a brief smirk as she imagined Angela trying to find them again in the mess.

But then she got to work. There was no time to waste. Angela would get smug again at any moment. She would not have it.

Amelie licked her way up the red lines her fingernails and made. She nipped at the point where Angela’s legs ended, before kissing gently between them. 

“This is…are you…?” Angela breathed as her fingers found their way into Amelie’s hair.

“Shut up,” Amelie husked against her thigh.

And then she really went to work. Amelie found she wasn’t the only one that the oysters and chocolate had affected that day. Angela was soaked.

Angela, meanwhile, was trying her best to be quiet. The dressing room was literally only one old rickety door away from the rest of the small shop. And it was small. Like, really small. Her bottom lip was held firmly between her teeth, but sounds kept escaping from it regardless. Amelie was very, very good with her mouth. Very good.

And god did she fucking know it. Amelie wondered of Angela could feel her smile. She hoped so.

The hands in her hair gripped harder. The thighs that framed her face shook. If Amelie were a petty person that didn’t respect the spirit of competition, she might just declare that she actually won with how fast Angela climaxed from her attentions. But she was not a petty person, at least, not in that moment. In fact, she was very kind and attentive and selfless. She brought Angela down gently and even cleaned up after herself. Amelie would not let it be said that she was a sore loser. 

Angela eventually pushed her away. All thoughts of conflict and strife were gone from her eyes. Instead, they were hazy with contentment. Angela still had one hand in Amelie’s hair when she bent down to kiss her and said, “On the bench.”

Amelie did not object. It was not a graceful loser’s place to question. She stood and then sat on the brocade covered bench. 

“Off,” Angela said as she approached.

And then her pants were gone. Her underwear too. Funny how that worked. 

“I have to say,” Angela whispered as she bent down and knelt on the discarded non-mom jeans. “That you did exactly what I wanted you to do. For that, you get to tell me what you want me to do to you.”

A thousand things flew through Amelie’s mind. Most of them were not possible in the current setting. Short of blurting out a plea to just be touched, she knew her answer. “Fuck me,” she said.

“Well then.”

Amelie found herself thanking oysters and chocolate and black lingerie. Angela found herself with two fingers in her girlfriend.

Amelie was not very good at being quiet. This much they both knew well. She wasn’t necessarily a screamer, but couldn’t help but make her appreciation known. Angela’s free hand had to go from roaming under Amelie’s sweater to covering her mouth rather quickly. 

When Angela added her thumb into the mix, then even this was not enough. It was probably very clear to anyone with ears what was going on in that dressing room. Well, too bad. 

Just as Amelie clenched tightly around her fingers and let out one long stifled moan against her hand, a knock came at the dressing room door. 

“Everything all right in there, ladies?” the shopkeeper asked.

“It’s great! Just great! We just love these jeans you have here!” Angela replied.


End file.
